


Body of a Traitor

by Sundance201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy Smut, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock thinks a lot of dirty thoughts, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/pseuds/Sundance201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't stop thinking about Molly Hooper in a number of sexual scenarios.  Molly, obviously, is willing to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the lovely kathmak, with whom I have various NSFW discussions about Sherlock and his sexual habits. :) 
> 
> Nothing you recognize belongs to me. I just like messing around in the sandbox.

Sherlock groaned and threw his arm over his face as the sunlight streamed through his window. He cracked an eye open and glanced over at his clock, surprised to find that he actually had slept for six hours. He’d solved a rather taxing case two days ago, apparently his body was still recovering. He could hear John puttering around the kitchen, apparently getting ready to leave for his shift at the surgery, if his hurried motions were anything to go off of. 

He stayed in bed, going still as he realized that something didn't quite feel right. He took stock of his body, certain that the case couldn't have taken its toll on him physically….oh. He threw off the covers and looked down at his traitorous crotch. Sure enough, there was a distinct bulge and he could tell that he was incredibly hard. Rolling his eyes, he looked over to the periodic table of elements. 

Usually a slow recitation of the elements was enough to distract his body and will away unwanted morning erections. Absently, he heard John hurry out of the flat, slamming the door on his way. He continued to go through the chart, every so often glancing down to see if the erection had gone away. 

It hadn't. 

He sighed heavily, pushing off his pajamas bottoms and pants all in one go. He supposed there was nothing else for it then. His body hadn't craved a sexual release in about a month; he figured that it would take less time to give into its demands than trying to make it go away. Lazily, he reached over to his nightstand and pulled open the drawer, searching for the almost full bottle of lubricant that he kept there specifically for this rare occurrence. His nose wrinkled slightly as he warmed the sticky substance between his fingers, but he knew that it was a necessary evil. He’d learned that having sufficient lubrication cut his masturbation time by approximately two minutes and the less time he spent on this task, the better. 

His breath hissed out between his teeth as his hand grasped his cock, spreading the lubricant carefully before fully grasping the shaft. When he was forced to masturbate, he found that it was usually most efficient to simply focus on the pleasurable sensations his body was experiencing. For a while, he tried to simply work his body to release while focusing his mind elsewhere, but it took far too long. This way, that he had nearly perfected, had the advantage of being both pleasurable and fairly quick. 

But today, he found his mind wandering. While it wasn't wholly unusual in and of itself, the images that his mind was conjuring up for him were a bit out of the ordinary. He was thinking of Molly Hooper’s mouth. That same mouth that he had made comments about, the one that he had called too small…for some reason, his brain kept thinking about her mouth, about her soft pink lips….

He grunted, pushing his foreskin up around the head of his penis and then pulling it back, brushing against the sensitive underside with his fingers. His mind conjured up images of those soft pink lips wrapped around his erection and his eyes flew open in surprise. 

He’d occasionally think of women while he was masturbating, but it was rather infrequent (even more so than these rare masturbation occurrences themselves) and it was always impersonal. He’d think of some woman he’d seen on John’s computer or some general woman he conjured in his mind who was aesthetically pleasing. This was the first time in a very long time that he had thought of a specific person, let alone a person he knew, while he touched himself. 

But now that he had started, he couldn't stop. His mind was suddenly conjuring images of Molly Hooper on her knees, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked on his penis like it was a lollipop, smiling up at him wickedly. Molly Hooper, beneath him, bucking up wildly as he thrust into her, her breasts (not too small, definitely not too small at all) jiggling from the force of his thrusts. Molly Hooper, crying out for him, begging for release as he rode her from behind and pulled her hair…

Before he knew it, Sherlock’s hips were bucking up and he couldn't help but cry out with his release. He had just enough of his mind functioning to make sure that he aimed the spurts of ejaculate towards his stomach, loathe to make a mess of the sheets. His release lasted far longer than it usually did, as images of Molly Hooper continued to torment his mind. 

Finally, completely spent, Sherlock’s hand relaxed. His breathing was labored and he felt almost boneless, sinking into the mattress below. 

His brain began to reboot, the blessed relief of his orgasm was short-lived. He began to think about Molly again and why thinking of her while masturbating had incited the reaction it did. Since his “death,” he and Molly had become proper friends. She was a colleague still, but she was one of the few that he trusted, one of the few he liked. She was a lot like John.

The thought made him pause. He had never thought about John while masturbating. He had no desire to see his flatmate and best friend on his knees, the way that he had imagined Molly. So she wasn't quite the same as John. 

He eventually dragged himself out of bed and headed out to the bathroom to begin his morning routine. Molly Hooper had suddenly become a mystery to him and honestly, she was one that he was quite eager to solve. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Much to his disappointment, the mystery that Molly Hooper presented was not one that was easily solved. And it turned out to be much more entertaining than the current case that Lestrade had handed off to him, which barely scraped by with a 7. He needed access to the lab equipment to prove that it was the delivery boy and his mood had darkened when he realized that needing lab equipment meant seeing Molly, but his penis had perked up a bit at thought. Luckily, it had calmed down again with just a few thoughts of Mycroft. 

He had practically dragged John to St. Bart’s and had barked his request for coffee to Molly. He settled down at the microscope as he noticed John follow Molly out to the canteen – surely to explain to her that his behavior had been absolutely beastly lately and that John couldn't quite figure out what had set him off so badly. Little did John Watson know that he was talking to the reason Sherlock was so frustrated. 

Blessedly, he became absorbed in the work and hardly even noticed when the door swung open and Molly entered, setting his coffee down near his microscope. At least, he hardly noticed her, until she spoke. “John stayed behind in the canteen to flirt with one of the nurses.” Sherlock snorted slightly and shook his head, without taking his focus away from the microscope. “He said that you've been a bit…prickly lately. Everything ok? Not that you’d…I mean…I just want to…make sure you’re ok,” she stammered.

Sherlock sighed and sat back in his seat; the sample that he had taken was inconclusive. He’d have to repeat the test. Molly stood next to him, fiddling slightly with the clipboard that she carried around. For a minute, he actually thought about telling her about his little problem and her part in it, but as soon as the thought entered his head, a distinctly John-sounding voice told him that the response would be a bit not good. Instead he simply shrugged and turned to the evidence, starting to get another sample. “Everyone has been particularly dull as of late. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Molly giggled slightly and nodded. She backed up slightly and bumped against the counter, sending a stack of files falling to the floor. “Oh bugger,” she muttered, turning around and bending over. 

Sherlock couldn't look away. Oddly, she didn't have her white lab coat on today, it must have been because she was heading out for her lunch right when he and John had come in. That meant that as she picked up the files, he had a rather nice view of her arse, her pants pulled taut against it. He shifted slightly and bit his lip as his penis stirred in his trousers. His mind was suddenly flooded with images of her naked skin, his fingers digging into the flesh that was practically on display right now to him. The marks he could leave on Molly Hooper’s body…

He growled softly in frustration and Molly’s head whipped around to look at him inquiringly. He was grateful that his arousal wasn't yet obvious because from her vantage point, she would definitely notice. 

Which didn't actually help his current situation. “Sherlock, are you ok? You’re looking a bit flushed.”

“Fine, Molly,” he bit out, hoping that she took his at his word and turned back around. She dropped down to the floor, no longer showing off her bum, but now kneeling on her knees just as she had in his…oh for god’s sake, in his fantasies just the other day. And then she turned towards him a little bit, checking to make sure that she hadn't missed anything. He shifted, hoping to avoid her notice.

She stood and giggled softly, tucking back a strand of hair that had fallen loose and setting the files down behind her firmly. “I’m so clumsy sometimes. Sorry, I hope I wasn't too much of a distraction.” Sherlock grunted in reply and fidgeted, willing his growing erection to subside. 

“Weren't you heading to lunch?” he muttered gruffly, fluctuating between the desire for her to leave so that he wouldn't be distracted or to entice her closer so he could memorize her curves so his next masturbatory session (which would more than likely be sooner than he would have liked, judging from the spontaneous and stubborn erection he was sporting currently) was as realistic as possible. Luckily, the bulge in his trousers was still blocked from her view.

Molly’s eyes dimmed slightly and he actually felt a stab of remorse when he noticed it. “I was going to, but I thought I could…stay here. In case you needed me.”

Sherlock bit down on his tongue briefly before answering. “Thank you, Molly. That’s kind of you. Could you get me another slide? This sample was useless.” Her eyes clearly showed her surprise at his polite request but she nodded immediately and went to her cabinet to retrieve the slide. 

She quickly gave him the slide and smiled at him. He didn't return it, but she didn't seem deflated by it. He distracted himself from her by preparing the slide. She disappeared in her office briefly and came back out with a peach, taking a bite out of it before settling in at a seat across from him to look over some of the paperwork she had to sign off on. 

At least it wasn't a banana, he thought to himself, glancing down to his erection that was finally waning. 

He slid the slide underneath the microscope, but was distracted when Molly made a soft noise of distress. Looking up, he saw Molly briefly lick some of the peach’s juice from the inside of her wrist and then lick her lips, cleaning up the juice there as well. The erection that had been finally going away was suddenly back with a vengeance. 

His focus was on her mouth again (and he had to wonder, was this the true reason that he had always paid such attention to her lipstick?) and his dirty thoughts were running away from him. He hadn't felt this out of control of his body since that wretched period of his life known as puberty. Images of her lips kissing down his torso and wrapping around his cock plagued him and he shifted again, his need reaching the point where something clearly needed to be done. 

He turned back to the microscope and smirked as he finally saw what he needed. One problem solved, one to go. Glancing down at his crotch, he wondered if he could somehow sneak past Molly and make his way to the loo without anyone noticing his straining erection. Unlikely, unless he put on his coat. 

He supposed he could always ask Molly…

Molly’s head shot up at his groan and she looked over to him, clearly concerned. “Sherlock, seriously, are you ok?” she asked, getting up and coming over to him. “I’m worried about you.”

“I am sexually frustrated by you, Molly Hooper, if you must know!” he exploded at her. Molly’s eyes widened as Sherlock jumped up and her gaze immediately fell to his crotch. Her cheeks erupted into a blush and his mind immediately wondered just how far that blush traveled. He growled and ruffled his hair wildly, stalking towards her until she was pinned back against the table and his erection was brushing against her stomach. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Molly. Dirty, filthy things about you. About the things I’d do to you. About the things you’d do to me. It’s like I’m a teenage boy all over again and I hate it.”

Molly’s eyes had widened to the point that they practically looked like they were going to burst from her head. “I’m…sorry?” she muttered uncertainly.

He pressed against her just a little bit further, bringing every bit of his body into contact with hers. He groaned and dropped his head as his erection ground against the softness of her belly. “I don’t understand it, Molly. It’s driving me mad.”

Tentatively, her hands came up to sink into his hair, her fingernails raking gently over his scalp. He groaned and thrust against her again. “How long has it been since you…since you last had sex?”

If he were in his right mind, he’d be rather impressed that Molly hadn't simply melted into a puddle on the floor at his incredibly forward conduct. Hell, he could barely form full sentences around her currently, so her coherent state should have been a miracle. 

“5 years. The night before I went to rehab.” His lips had started to kiss her neck, his tongue coming out to taste her randomly. She gasped and leaned into him, her fingers still tangled in his curls. “But I just masturbated last night. The third time in a week, Molly; it’s highly unusual. And it’s all because of you.” 

Molly actually whimpered and he leaned back slightly, her hands falling from his hair to his neck. Then one traveled from his neck, down his chest, until she was resting it over his erection. She bit her lip nervously as he groaned and leaned into her touch. “I could help you with this,” she whispered. He nodded eagerly and she grabbed his hand, leading him into her office. 

They were hardly inside the office before Sherlock was undoing his trousers. Molly closed and locked the door and then led him to her office chair, gently pushing on his chest until he sat down. She sank to her knees and Sherlock moaned softly at the image – the reality overwhelming the fantasy. Grinning, Molly’s hands went to his waistband and tugged on his trousers and pants. He lifted his hips to aid her in her self-appointed task, his erection throbbing at the promise of relief. 

She giggled slightly as she quickly untied and removed his shoes before removing his trousers and pants. He watched her closely as she carefully folded his clothes and placed them on the side of her desk before sinking back down to her knees. Her fingers traced over his thighs and his hands flew to the arms of her chair. 

“Just…relax, Sherlock,” she whispered, moving her hands slowly. One continued to rub his thigh and the other moved up, gently grasping his cock. Sherlock gasped and stiffened, trying his best to stay still for her. She scooted closer and bent her head slightly, her warm breath passing over him and making his erection twitch in anticipation. 

Her fingers gently pushed down his foreskin, exposing the sensitive head. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and slowly licked around the head, before taking it into her mouth and sucking lightly. Sherlock moaned and couldn't help but buck his hips towards her. She pulled off of him and smiled softly, her free hand moving up between his hips and pressing against his abdomen. Then she moved back down, taking him into her mouth again and stroking what she couldn't fit. 

Sherlock moaned and let his head drop back. He knew that this couldn't last for long - knowing John, he would be back any minute now with a date for later that night. But he also knew that with whatever Molly’s tongue was doing, it wouldn't take him very long to finish anyway. The hand on his abdomen suddenly dropped and stroked his balls and Sherlock brought his own hand up to muffle his cry as he came. 

He could feel Molly swallowing as he sunk further into the chair, utterly relaxed from the orgasm. She gave his penis one final affectionate lick and then got up to hand him his pants and trousers. He’d move to put them on if he could figure out how to coordinate his limbs. “You uh…swallowed,” he said absently, unable to look away from her, with her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

She smiled nervously. “Yeah. I mean…it’s not that bad.” Sherlock was overwhelmed with a sudden affection for Molly Hooper and grabbed her hand, pulling her close to him. She stumbled and ended up perched on his knee, opposite his clothing. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and tugged her down, surprising her with a kiss. 

Moaning softly, Molly let Sherlock deepen the kiss, melting into him as his tongue explored her mouth. He pulled away with a soft nip to her bottom lip and she looked at him, slightly astonished. “Most guys don’t like to kiss a girl after she’s gone down on him.”

“I’m not most guys, am I, Molly?” he muttered, nuzzling her neck. She giggled and ran her fingers through his hair.

“No, I suppose you’re not.”

“Come to Baker Street tonight,” he proposed, out of the blue. “John has clearly been successful flirting with the nurse in the canteen. He’ll have asked her to dinner tonight. I’ll have the flat to myself for a few hours. Knowing John, I’ll probably have it to myself the entire night. I want you there.”

She nodded eagerly. “Ok. After my shift, I’ll be over. And you can tell me about these things you've imagined doing to me,” she told him with a wicked grin. He nodded in agreement and she leaned forward to give him a soft kiss before standing up and gesturing to his clothes. “You should probably get dressed,” she said, her cheeks a rather lovely shade of pink. 

He re-dressed quickly; although, not as quickly as was possible, since he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself and Molly was rather willing. He was entertaining the thought of getting her off with his hand when they heard the door to the lab open and John walked in. With one last kiss and clothing check, Molly unlocked and opened up the door to the office. 

“Everything ok?” John inquired.

“Fine, John. I assume that your flirtations were successful?” Sherlock asked, even though he already knew the answer. John simply nodded affirmatively as Sherlock swept over to where the evidence was and scooped it up. “Come along now, need to go tell Lestrade I have his murderer. Only turned out to be a 6.”

He grabbed his coat and quickly put it on, catching John mouthing ‘sorry’ to Molly out of the corner of his eye. He kept his smirk hidden from his friend. If only he knew what had actually just transpired between himself and the pathologist, he probably wouldn't feel nearly as apologetic. Molly waved off his apology, her gaze flickering over to Sherlock every so often. 

“See you later, Molly,” he said in his normal tone of voice, but he shot her a secretive smirk when John wasn't looking. Her cheeks immediately reddened. And with that, he exited the lab, an unusual hop in his step.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those that have left kudos and comments! Molly and Sherlock get down to business in this chapter. :P Hope you enjoy!

Molly’s shift ended at 7. Sherlock had texted her two hours beforehand at 5 to inform her that John’s date was at 6:30 and he didn't intend on returning to Baker Street at any point that night. In a way, it was reassuring, because it confirmed that he still wanted her to come over. But at the same time, it set her nerves alight because that meant that more than likely, by the end of the night, she will have slept with Sherlock Holmes. 

Part of her couldn't believe what had happened earlier in the afternoon had been real, but she knew that it was. She had sucked off Sherlock Holmes in her office. Her! Mousy Molly Hooper, who for the longest time couldn't even manage an intelligent sentence around the man. Granted, their relationship had evolved quite a bit, but there were still times that she felt like a bloody school girl around him. But no more. His confession to her had told her, in no uncertain terms, that Sherlock Holmes was well aware that she was a woman and someone that he wanted physically. She felt like it was quite the honor.

But it didn't stop her from being scared witless about going to Baker Street after her shift. 

When she got off of work, she walked the few blocks to her flat to shower and change, quickly sending off a text to Sherlock to let him know her plans. She didn't bother to make herself up…he had basically told her that he was a sure thing, after all. Well…all right, she did put on a little bit of lipstick and used the expensive lotion that made her skin incredibly soft and smell like brown sugar. But that was just as much for her as it was for him – it gave her a boost of confidence. 

She packed a haphazard overnight bag, praying that she wasn't overstepping her boundaries, and hailed a cab to 221 Baker Street. The ride there was relatively short, about 20 minutes, and in that time, Molly nearly threw up three times and almost told the driver to just turn around about five times. But she clamped down on both urges and calmly paid the driver as he pulled up to Sherlock’s building. She grabbed her bag and took a deep breath before ringing the bell right off the front door. 

Sherlock opened it after a few seconds, looking positively delicious in his black pants and his white button down shirt. His lips quirked up in a small smirk at the sight of her and he reached out to grab her overnight bag, before stepping aside to let her into the building. He gestured to the stairs and she cautiously started up them, her nerves surging up again. What exactly did he expect of her? Was the overnight bag too presumptuous? What if he just wanted a quick shag and then kicked her out? Just how big of a mistake was she about to make?

They made their way into the flat and Sherlock made a slight detour to drop her bag in what she could only assume was his bedroom. So…maybe not too presumptuous then? 

She awkwardly took a seat on the couch as she waited for Sherlock to come back out of his room. “Tea?” he asked casually and she bit back her laughter. Sherlock had just offered to make her tea! This night was getting stranger and stranger. 

“Yeah. Thanks,” she replied, picking away imaginary pieces of lint on her pants in order to give her hands something to do. Sherlock stayed in the kitchen for a few more minutes to prepare the tea, during which, Molly had started on at least six different excuses to leave. But for some strange reason, she was still staying put on the couch. 

Sherlock came out with two cups of tea in his hand and Molly grabbed for it almost desperately, eager to have an excuse to not be the one to start talking. She smiled after she took a sip – she shouldn’t have been surprised, but the tea was exactly how she took it. Looking over to Sherlock, who was smirking as he sipped at his own tea on the other end of the sofa, she had to admit that the man was a bloody genius. “I can tell that you’re uncomfortable, Molly. It was not my intention this afternoon, or this evening, to cause you discomfort.”

She bit her lower lip and placed her cup in her saucer, putting them both on the table. “I’m not uncomfortable exactly, Sherlock, I’m just…wondering what I’m doing here. Why me? Why now?”

Sherlock took a sip of tea and seemed to be considering his response before he spoke, which in and of itself was quite an unusual occurrence. “I have been questioning that myself, Molly. And I have yet to come to a satisfactory conclusion. I trust you. I enjoy your company. I find your physical appearance pleasing.” He paused, looking away from her. If she didn't know better, she’d say he looked shy. As it was, she was trying to keep her mouth from gaping open like a fish because Sherlock Holmes was saying nice things to her. Unequivocally nice. Not a compliment about her lipstick only to comment on the size of her mouth or a compliment about her hair to access a body. “My body rarely demands sexual release, but it has been relentless in the past week or so and every time that I masturbate…I think of you.”

Molly could feel her cheeks flushing wildly, but she never wanted him to stop talking. Well…maybe she’d want him to stop talking so that he could be doing other things with his mouth, but for now…for now, she loved the talking. “It seems, Molly Hooper, that I still need you. It just happens to be in a different capacity than it was before.”

She chuckled and looked down, her trembling hands reaching for her teacup for a few calming sips. Much to her surprise, Sherlock remained silent and simply studied her as she tried to come up with a response. “I just…I don’t know what this is, Sherlock. What this means. Is it just a one-off? Because if it is, that’s fine. Well, maybe not fine but…I just need to know.”

He nodded seriously and set down his cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of them. “I can only answer you honestly, Molly. I don’t know. But I am loathe to cause you pain deliberately. I do not like seeing my friends hurt. And as I said before, I rather enjoy your company. I think that an…intimate relationship could be mutually beneficial. If you’re amenable to such an arrangement.” He pursed his lips briefly, before fixing her with a very serious look. “But I refuse to be referred to as your boyfriend.”

Molly couldn't help the laughter that escaped her at his serious declaration and she attempted to stifle it as Sherlock looked at her in confusion. “I’m sorry, it’s just…your biggest concern in all of this is how I’m going to refer to you?”

He nodded slightly. “It’s an idiotic term that I refuse to be associated wi-” Molly cut him off as she practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her for a passionate kiss. He stiffened in surprise at the initial contact, but quickly relaxed into it, pulling Molly practically onto his lap and running his hands down her back.

She gently nibbled on his lip as she pulled away, delighting in his soft moan as she did so. Shifting so that she was properly straddling him, she smiled and brought a finger up to trace his lips. “Ok. I won’t call you my boyfriend.”

He nodded slightly, opening his mouth to lick and nibble at her finger. “Thank you, Molly. I knew you would be reasonable about this.”

She chuckled and extracted her finger from his mouth, leaning in to capture his lips in a brief, teasing kiss. “So you were going to tell me what you've been imagining all week,” she whispered in his ear, the brave and take-charge Molly that had appeared in the morgue that afternoon rapidly returning. For all of Sherlock’s knowledge and unparalleled deduction skills, she knew for a fact that this was something that she had much more hands-on experience with and it made her bold. 

“I was, wasn't I?” he said, smirking slightly as his hands ran up and down her back. “I thought a lot about what you would look like on your knees, like you were this afternoon. The reality was much better than my fantasy,” he murmured, one hand dipping below the waistband of her pants to stroke over the skin at the small of her back and the other slipping beneath her shirt to travel over the notches of her spine.

He leaned forward, his lips simply brushing against hers, not quite kissing her. “I thought about your mouth. My observation years ago was wrong. It’s not too small at all…it’s perfect,” he murmured, his tongue coming out to briefly lick her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. 

Molly moaned and ground herself against him, smiling slightly as she felt him harden even further underneath her. Sherlock finally let her lip go and without warning, grabbed her and stood up, moving almost effortlessly through his flat, towards his bedroom. Once they were inside, he let her down, sliding against his body and he smiled wickedly at her. “I think if you want me to tell you any more about what I've been thinking about this week, we both need to be wearing less clothing.”

Giggling and nodding her agreement, Molly took little time to start stripping down, not caring about being seductive at all, just focusing on being naked as soon as possible. Sherlock seemed to be focused on the same thing. She finished just as he was bending to take off his socks and she moved to the bed, laying down in what she hoped would translate as a ‘come hither’ pose. 

Sherlock, finally naked, looked up and smiled at her. Molly couldn't help but gasp at the sight. She’d seen Sherlock in various states of undress before; they’d spent time together on and off after his “suicide” and he’d often sought refuge in her flat. But this was different. This time, she knew that she could look. She knew that she could touch. Smiling, she held out her hand and beckoned him towards her.

He practically pounced on top of her, smiling at her soft yelp as he began kissing her neck. His mouth traveled down her neck to her chest, his hands came up to cup her breasts. Molly writhed beneath him as his fingers plucked at her nipples and his tongue ghosted over one and then the other. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I thought of you, underneath me,” he murmured, rising slightly and nudging her thighs apart with his knee. He settled himself against her, his hands going to support himself on either side of her and his weight pleasantly pinning her to the mattress. “I've imagined fucking you into the bed, just like this,” he said, thrusting against her for effect. 

Molly couldn't help but moan. “Never would have imagined you for a dirty talker in bed, Sherlock.”

He smirked up at her, delighting in another gasp as he ground against her again. “I have an enormous vocabulary at my disposal, but sometimes the crudest language is the most appropriate. Wouldn't you agree, Molly? Saying things like ‘I am pleased with your vaginal secretions that indicate you are aroused by our activities’ isn't quite the same as,” he dipped his fingers into her wetness, the suddenness of it causing her to arch her back and gasp with pleasure, “I love how wet you are for me.”

She laughed breathlessly. “I completely see what you mean. So for the sake of keeping with the mood,” she murmured, pulling him down so her lips grazed his ear, “I really want you to fuck me now, Sherlock.” 

He chuckled as his fingers withdrew from her wet heat and he nudged at her thigh with the back of his hand. Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabbed a condom that he had set out when he brought in Molly’s bag, stolen from the stash that John kept in his room. He quickly opened the packet and threw the wrapper on the ground, then rolled the condom on. Moving into position, he bent his head and kissed her tenderly, nibbling and licking at her lips. 

She moaned as Sherlock slid into her, her hand flying up to cover her face as her body tried to process all of the different sensations all at once. Her legs came up around his body, her feet hooking together at the small of his back and pulling him closer to her. Sherlock grunted slightly as the angle changed and he slid even further into her, his head falling to her shoulder and his breath coming out in hot pants against her skin. 

Molly finally moved her hand away from her face, bringing it up to brush against Sherlock’s cheek. He turned his head and placed a sloppy kiss against her wrist and she smiled at him. “Good?” he asked, pulling back slightly and then thrusting back in. 

She moaned at the action and nodded. “Oh yeah,” she whispered, pulling his head down for another kiss. He started thrusting into her, keeping a steady rhythm and tightly holding on to his control. It had been quite a while since Molly had last had sex, but Sherlock was stretching her just enough that it was pleasant and not painful. One of her hands trailed down to where they were connected and Sherlock watched her with wide eyes as she started to circle her clit. He made a sort of choking noise as he absently thrust against her, her fingers brushing against him every time he pulled out at all. 

He watched intently for a few seconds, before brushing her hand away and replacing it with his own. He mimicked her motions nearly perfectly. She threw her head back and moaned his name and he smiled down at her, clearly proud of himself. Chuckling, she tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and dragged him down for a kiss. “You think you’re just so clever,” she murmured against his lips when they broke apart. 

She gasped as he pressed his thumb down on her bundle of nerves and he thrust into her just right, hitting all of her buttons at once. He smiled as he replied, “I know I am. I think you know it too.”

He pressed close to her, pushing her into the mattress as his thrusts started to lose a bit of the practiced control he had displayed. His lips brushed against her ear and she moaned at just that little contact, arching her back into him. “This is much better than anything that I could have imagined. Hearing all the delicious noises you make, feeling you clench around me…much more satisfying than pleasuring myself as I have this past week.”

She moaned and started to squirm, feeling her orgasm building. Sherlock continued to murmur in her ear. “I’d forgotten just how pleasurable fucking was. Having you move against me, hearing your moans,” he punctuated that with a particularly hard thrust that had her moaning his name. “I think that sex will keep my brain active for quite some time. Assuming you are willing to be my partner in such an experiment.”

Molly laughed and bucked her hips up and then brought both of her hands down to Sherlock’s ass, digging her fingernails into the soft flesh there, making him moan. “You are entirely too coherent. I’m so close, Sherlock,” she whispered, throwing her head back and exposing her neck to him. He took advantage and nuzzled the skin there, licking a meandering path up her neck.

“Will my voice push you over the edge, Molly?” he questioned, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “I know how much you like it. I see you shiver sometimes when I’m talking to you.” Molly moaned helplessly underneath him, her fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, obviously leaving marks. “Come on then, Molly. Let me see what you look like when you come.”

She’d be embarrassed when she looked back on it, but she actually screamed his name at that point, as she came so hard that she nearly saw stars. She heard his triumphant chuckling, followed quickly by his incoherent moans, signaling his own release. He collapsed against her, his much bigger body pushing her into the mattress in a move that should have been suffocating, but just felt…nice. 

He rolled off her and onto his back after a few moments and she felt him take the condom off and quickly dispose of it. His arms automatically reached for her and pulled her against his side. Molly smiled as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Much more satisfying than my hand,” he muttered and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her. 

“Happy to help you, as always, Sherlock.” 

Smiling wickedly at her, he ducked his head in order to kiss her – his kisses still precise and positively wonderful. He licked his lips right after he pulled away from her, looking like the cat who got the cream. “Oh, Dr. Hooper, I think you might regret saying that. You see, now that I've found something that I find pleasurable…I’m a very thorough study. I intend to have you in every way possible.”

Molly giggled, snuggling close to him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Well, I only have enough in that overnight bag for the night. And John will be back at some point. But until then, I think that I’m yours to experiment on as you will.” Smiling, she flung out an arm dramatically as Sherlock rose up beside her, hovering over her prone form. 

“I intend to take full advantage of that,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss at her neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before goes surprisingly...well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, remember that time that I said this fic would be posted pretty quickly because I had it all done? Clearly I lied. Sorry about the wait on this chapter! Hope that you enjoy the fluffy goodness (even if there's a distinct lack of smut).

Much to Molly’s surprise, and delight, she woke up in Sherlock’s arms the next morning. And the soft snoring in her ear indicated that he had actually slept for at least part of the night. She had to repress a giggle at the thought that Sherlock was just like any other bloke, passing out after sex. He certainly wouldn't appreciate the comparison. 

She wiggled against him slightly and he woke up abruptly, his grip on her tightening before he fully awoke and realized exactly who was sharing his bed. “Good morning, Molly,” he murmured, his voice rumbling in her ear. She shivered pleasantly as his hands began stroking at her bare skin. 

“Morning, Sherlock,” she replied, sighing as one of his thumbs came up to stroke the side of her breast. She had expected to feel much more nervous, waking up in Sherlock’s bed the morning after the night before. But he didn't seem to regret what had transpired between them and she certainly didn't…everything felt strangely right. Her stomach rumbled slightly and Sherlock chuckled against her shoulder as she flushed, embarrassed. 

Sherlock suddenly disengaged from her, sitting up and swinging his legs off the side of the bed, reaching for the dressing gown that was draped over a nearby chair. “I believe that John just went to the supermarket yesterday…or two days ago. It was recent, at least. We should have some form of sustenance. Eggs, toast, and coffee?” Molly tried not to stare. 

“Uh…yeah. Sounds good.” Sherlock Holmes was fixing her breakfast. After shagging her brains out last night. 

This had to be a dream. It had to be.

She waited until Sherlock was out of the room to pinch her thigh. She hissed in pain and immediately regretted the decision. It had hurt. This was definitely real. She grinned to herself and sprung out of bed, heading to Sherlock’s wardrobe to grab one of his shirts to wear. 

Biting her lip, she trailed her fingers over the crisp material of the shirts until she found the one that she wanted. With a wicked grin, she pulled the dark purple shirt from the wardrobe and quickly put it on. She ducked into the bathroom and quickly freshened up, going through an abbreviated version of her morning routine. Cautiously, she opened the door into the kitchen and stepped out. 

Sherlock was at the stove making breakfast and Molly took a moment to just admire him. It was strange to see him like this, in his home, wearing nothing but a dressing gown, making breakfast…it all seemed so ordinary. “The coffee is ready, if you would fix us both a cup,” he said without even turning around. Molly grinned and moved over to the coffee maker, opening one wrong cabinet before finding the one that held the cups. 

She went about fixing up her normal cup (almost more milk than coffee and one sugar) as well as his (still black, two sugars), when she heard the stove click off and the food being put onto two plates. She then heard him walk over to her and she smiled as his arms wrapped around her waist and his lips teased the skin under her ear. “I very much like this look on you. I can see why you look at me the way you do when I wear this shirt,” he whispered, his finger trailing over her collarbone and dipping down between her breasts. “Although, I don’t think that I leave this many buttons undone at the top.”

Molly giggled and turned around abruptly, grabbing one mug from behind her and pushing it into Sherlock’s hands. He smiled roguishly and took a sip of it, before going to sit down at the small table in the kitchen where he had set their plates. Molly followed him, her own mug in hand.

They started to eat in comfortable silence. Molly looked over to him and grinned as she took another bite. “You know, John’s always complaining that you never do any cooking. He says that he usually makes you breakfast. Didn't think you could cook, Sherlock.”

He rolled his eyes. “I've never spent the night exhausting John sexually before, now have I? I did feel like it was only proper to replenish your energy. Especially since I plan on expending it again,” he replied, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Molly returned the look and dug into her eggs with renewed enthusiasm. Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle. 

They continued on in the relaxed state for a little longer, until they were both almost finished. Molly was once again the one to break the silence. “So if you don’t want me calling you my boyfriend, what should I call you?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he nibbled on his piece of toast. “What’s wrong with my name?”

Molly rolled her eyes because she knew that he was being deliberately obtuse. “So you just want me going around introducing you as ‘my Sherlock’? That sounds idiotic.”

He snorted. “No less idiotic than referring to me as a boy.”

“What about lover? Partner?” Her eyes suddenly sparkled with mirth. “My widdle consulting detective-wective?” Sherlock actually physically blanched at that and Molly couldn't help the giggles that escaped from her. 

“No to lover. Partner is acceptable, but it is also possibly confusing. I have referred to John as my partner before…and that probably contributes to the speculation regarding our relationship. And absolutely positively not to the last one. I don’t see why we should have to come up with some special term in the first place.” His nose wrinkled as he took a sip of his coffee. 

Molly nodded and then shrugged, a soft smile still on her face. “I know. I know that labels are silly. It’s just…it’s easier to quantify when there’s a name. I want a way of declaring our relationship so that other people understand.” She leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand. “How would you introduce me?”

He gave her his patented ‘don’t be an idiot, Molly’ look. She rolled her eyes – that look had ceased to be hurtful about a year ago. “Using your name, of course. This is Molly Hooper, my pathologist.”

She giggled and shook her head. Sherlock gave her a look that clearly indicated he did not understand what she found so amusing, which only made her laugh harder. “You can’t just call me your pathologist!”

His nose wrinkled again in his confusion. “Why not? You are. I’m introducing you using your name and your job title. I am also declaring our relationship by adding the fact that you are mine.”

She smirked and shook her head, before hopping off of her chair and coming stand in front of him. Sherlock shifted so that his back was against the wall and Molly stood between his legs. “First off, Sherlock Holmes, I don’t belong to anyone. Second, just introducing me as your pathologist just implies our working connection. I want something that…I don’t know. Tells people that we’re involved.” Her lips pursed and she slouched slightly, looking down at the table instead of at him. “It’s not like people are going to believe it anyway.”

He studied her intently before placing both his hands on her hips, tugging her closer. Then he lifted her chin up so she was looking at him once more. “They won’t believe it because you are far too good for me, Molly Hooper.” She rolled her eyes and tried to look away but Sherlock tightened his grip on her hips until she looked at him again. “Truly, Molly. You are a kind and gentle soul. I don’t know a single person who does not immediately like you. When people see us together, they won’t wonder how you got me, they’ll wonder how I’m managing to keep you.”

Molly gave him a weak, but sincere smile. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He reared back slightly, not releasing his hold on her hips. “I thought that’s what people did when they were in relationships. They are…nice to one another.” Molly chuckled and leaned into him slightly, gently kissing him. When they broke apart, he continued, “It is also the truth, Molly. When I came to you to help me fake my death, I promised myself that I would endeavor to prove to you that what I said was true. You count, Molly Hooper. And if others cannot see that, it is their own grave misfortune.”

She leaned in again, kissing him deeper this time. His hands that had rested on her hips traveled around her body and up her back, holding her to him. He scooted forward in his seat, making their positions more comfortable as Molly wound her arms around Sherlock’s neck, digging her fingers into his hair. “Surprisingly, Sherlock,” she whispered, her lips still brushing against his, “that was the perfect thing to say. Bravo.”

He smirked. “Do I get a reward?”

She chuckled and leaned forward to kiss him again lieu of a reply. They were so caught up in each other that they failed to notice John’s footsteps pounding up the stairs and his key hitting the lock of the door. “Hey Sherlock, you up? Spent the night with Mary, she’s absolutely incredible. I picked up some milk on the way…” He trailed off as he stared in shock at Molly and Sherlock in a rather compromising position. 

It was impossible to explain away why Molly was wearing Sherlock’s purple shirt, only buttoned halfway and why Sherlock was clearly wearing nothing but his blue dressing gown. It was especially impossible to come up with another explanation to why John had just walked in on them shamelessly snogging in the kitchen. So they didn't try to explain. Molly simply let out a soft groan of despair and hid her face in Sherlock’s neck, while Sherlock glared daggers at his friend. 

“I…interrupted something, didn't I?” John said awkwardly.

“Brilliant deduction, John. Do you have any other gems to share with us today?” Sherlock growled out and Molly immediately smacked his chest lightly, before lifting her head to smile weakly at John. 

“Morning, John.”

“Morning, Molly,” he replied cautiously, looking at them closely, before glancing down to his milk, and then back up at them. He suddenly made a move for the refrigerator and quickly put the carton away before facing them again. “Well done, Dr. Hooper. Maybe he’ll stop being such a prick now that he’s finally gotten laid.” He clapped her on the shoulder briefly before he fled the room, slamming the door behind him. They could hear him going up the stairs, escaping to his room. 

Molly couldn't help the giggles that emanated from her then. Sherlock growled and without warning, hopped out of his seat and hauled Molly up over his shoulder in a fireman carry. She squealed in surprise and beat lightly against his back as he walked back into his bedroom and gently tossed her onto the bed. 

“John’s an idiot,” he muttered as he closed his bedroom door and stripped off his dressing gown. 

“John’s your best friend. He’s not an idiot,” Molly chastised him, unbuttoning the purple shirt and tossing it over onto the chair. Sherlock climbed onto the bed and seemed to slither up her body. She giggled as he nuzzled her neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “We’re going to have to be quieter now that he’s home,” she whispered warningly. 

He looked up at her, a gleam in his eye. “Oh, Dr. Hooper. I do believe that you just issued a challenge. Let’s see how loud I can make you scream.”

Needless to say, John greatly regretted coming home so early that morning.


End file.
